Path of Contention, Path of Resilience
by ForceForGood
Summary: Obi-Wan is taught a harsh lesson by a mysterious Jedi Master and faces a choice that will affect the way he fights. Temporarily on hiatus while I work on another fanfic, but if you have ideas on where I could take the story, please tell me in your review!
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Path of Contention, Path of Resilience

**Author**: ForceForGood

**Characters**: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn, Dooku

**Genre/rating**: Drama, rated K+ for mild violence.

**Description**: 20-year-old Obi-Wan is taught a harsh lesson by a mysterious Jedi Master, and faces a choice that will affect the way he fights for the rest of his life.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of the characters in Star Wars, and I don't make a profit from my fanfics. This is a fun hobby, nothing more!

**Inspiration**: I'm a big fan of Obi-Wan, but even I have to admit that in the prequels he gets whupped pretty badly by Dooku..._twice_. I wrote this story to explain why that was the case. Many thanks to the authors of Wookieepedia, which was an invaluable resource as I wrote this. I hope you enjoy it!

**Chapter 1**

The lights automatically switched on as Obi-Wan Kenobi entered the common room of the quarters he shared with his Master, Qui-Gon Jinn.

The sudden illumination made Obi-Wan blink a bit as he looked around the room; the lighting in the corridor outside had been dim, since everyone else in the Jedi Temple was asleep. Night had fallen on this side of Coruscant many hours ago, and the dark sky outside the transparisteel window was criss-crossed by the lights from the air traffic still whizzing to and fro between the skyscrapers surrounding the Temple's imposing ziggurat.

Although they'd been gone for nearly three months, the furniture in common room wasn't layered with dust - the cleaning droids had seen to that - but still, the room felt curiously empty, as if it had somehow noticed their absence.

Qui-Gon, entering the room behind Obi-Wan, set down his travel sack without a word and headed straight for the 'fresher. Obi-Wan set his sack down too, and hid a grin. At least some things never changed. His Master always did exactly the same thing as soon as they got home from a mission, no matter whether the mission had consisted of a lot of fighting and slogging through mud, or nothing but endless diplomatic meetings in pristine boardrooms or palaces: Qui-Gon always headed straight for the shower.

After eight years of apprenticeship to Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan also knew what was expected of him now. He activated a hot plate tucked into a nook in the common room and started brewing a pot of sapir tea.

It wasn't long before Qui-Gon rejoined him, long hair hanging down loose and dampening the shoulders of his clean tunic. Qui-Gon got to shower first - being Master had its privileges, after all - but at least he had the consideration to be quick. Obi-Wan poured him a cup of tea.

"Feeling better, Master?" he asked.

"Much better. Thank you, Padawan." Qui-Gon sat down and took a sip of tea, then looked placidly at Obi-Wan across the coffee table. "It's perfect."

"What's perfect?" Obi-Wan said blankly.

"The tea, of course."

"I should think it is, after countless lectures on how to brew it to your completely unrealistic standards," Obi-Wan teased. "But why haven't you mentioned it before?"

"It wasn't perfect before. And my standards aren't unrealistic, Padawan, they're just very high."

Obi-Wan took a sip of his own tea and leaned back in his chair. "_Perfect_," he repeated dreamily. "I don't think you've ever used that word before to describe anything I've done, Master."

"Don't let it go to your head," Qui-Gon advised.

They sat together in companionable silence for several minutes, sipping their tea. Qui-Gon was looking sleepier by the minute. Obi-Wan drained his cup and drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair absent-mindedly.

"Well, I'm headed to bed, Padawan," Qui Gon said, rising to his feet smoothly. "I saved plenty of hot water, by the way, and put out a towel for you."

"Oh. Thank you, Master. Actually, I was thinking of going down to the training rooms first."

Qui-Gon paused. "You want to train in the middle of the night?"

"It isn't the middle of the night to me. I'm still on Eeropha time. I just want to run through a few katas and burn some energy, so I can sleep. No one will be there this time of night to spar with me, anyway."

"All right. Nothing too strenuous, please. I intend to work you hard in the morning. We need to work on your Soresu techniques."

Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose in distaste, and instantly regretted it when Qui-Gon fixed him with a dangerous stare.

"Is there a problem, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

"Well?"

"Well, no offense, Master, but of all the combat forms, Soresu is the most... well, boring. Can't we work on Ataru instead? You could teach me the new variant on the _jung su ma_ spin, the one Quinlan keeps using to destroy me every time I spar with him."

"If you think Soresu is boring, Padawan, it's because you don't fully understand the power of its defensive techniques."

Obi-Wan sighed deeply and buried his face in his hands. "I just earned myself another long lecture on the glories of Soresu, didn't I, Master?"

Qui-Gon didn't smile in response, but Obi-Wan knew him well enough by now to know he wasn't truly annoyed, either.

"Yes, you did." Qui-Gon paused. "But it will have to wait. I'm too tired to lecture you properly now."

Obi-Wan smiled wryly. "I have something to look forward to, then. Good night, Master."

"Good night, Obi-Wan."

* * *

As Obi-Wan expected, the training rooms were empty and silent. He chose a low-power training saber from the rack on the wall and began to run through a simple warm-up exercise. He liked the solitude, liked the way the only sounds in his ears were the soft thumps of his boots on the smooth floor, the hum and whoosh of the lightsaber, the rustle of his clothes as he moved and his own steady breathing. He moved slowly, forward and back, holding the saber lightly in his hand and focusing on making the weapon an extension of his own arm. On a deeper level, he communed with the Force and let it guide his movements, bringing him more precision and grace than came to him naturally. Within minutes, he was lost in the dance and aware of nothing but himself and the Force flowing through him.

Abruptly, the peace was shattered when out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of someone standing in the doorway of the training room, despite the fact that he hadn't sensed any presence. Startled, Obi-Wan faltered mid-swing and ended up grazing his boot with his training saber as he recovered to guard. The smell of burnt leather filled his nostrils as he deactivated the lightsaber and turned to face the interloper.

It was a man, Obi-Wan saw in a glance, a Human man with impeccably tailored tunics and robe, and boots polished to a high shine. A silver lightsaber dangled from his belt, and something about it looked off. The hilt was curved, Obi-Wan realized after a moment; an unusual variation for a Jedi's weapon.

And the man had a gray beard and graying hair, so he was old; older than Qui-Gon, at least, which meant he was probably a Master. And he'd just seen Obi-Wan hit himself with his weapon, as if he were a 5-year-old initiate and not a senior Padawan! Obi-Wan could feel his cheeks burning as he lowered his head in a respectful bow to the newcomer.

"You shouldn't let your guard down like that, boy," the man said in an unexpectedly deep and resonant voice. "Always be aware of your surroundings. Just because you're in the Temple doesn't mean you're safe."

"I'm sorry. I will try to do better, Master."

"What is your name, Padawan?"

"Obi-Wan Kenobi."

The man raised an eyebrow. "So. Qui-Gon Jinn's apprentice."

"That's right, Master...?"

The man didn't catch the gentle hint. "You did reasonably well with the blade positions, young Kenobi, but your footwork is atrocious."

"I know," Obi-Wan said quietly. "I am working on it."

"I could give you a proper demonstration, if you like. Footwork is my forte." The man shed his robe and began scanning the rack of training sabers. "No curved hilts, of course," he murmured in dissatisfaction.

"That's very kind of you, Master... Master... uh, Master." Obi-Wan said quickly, "but my Master said I wasn't to exert myself..."

Turning to face Obi-Wan, the gray-bearded man activated the blade of his chosen training saber and held it vertically in front of his face, then swung it to a downward guard position with a flourish. It was the classic Makashi salute, something Obi-Wan had not seen since he had learned the basics of all the lightsaber combat forms as an initiate. Not many Jedi used the Makashi form these days, though it had been in widespread use during the New Sith War a thousand years ago.

"Come, boy," the man prompted impatiently. "_En garde_."

Confused and at a loss for what else to do without seeming disrespectful, Obi-Wan reluctantly activated his training saber and held the weapon vertically in front of him in the two-handed Ataru opening stance; like Qui-Gon, he favored the fourth lightsaber form, which featured plenty of leaps, spins and other high-speed acrobatics. There was nothing boring about Ataru, and Obi-Wan suspected the older man would not be able to counter the quick and agile moves he excelled at, at least not for long.

"Your move," the master said.

The hour that followed was one of the most humiliating of Obi-Wan's life.

The man did not leap and spin. He did not slash or chop. His strikes were not particularly quick or forceful, but they didn't need to be. Whenever Obi-Wan thought he knew which direction his opponent's blade was going to strike from, suddenly it was coming from an entirely different direction. The hot blade flicked at his arms and legs again and again, until he was covered in light burns that made it increasingly painful to contort his body into Ataru acrobatics in an attempt to make a few hits of his own. Obi-Wan grew increasingly frustrated. The man began to bark instructions at him.

"Stop moving around so much. Confine your movements to forward and backward, charge and retreat, always keeping the feet balanced."

"Don't make it so obvious what you're about to do to me, Padawan. Use feints; keep your opponent on his toes. Destroy his confidence."

"Stop wasting your energy on those enormous swings. You're wielding a weightless blade, boy, not a vibroaxe. A jab or light cut is sufficient to incapacitate your enemy."

Obi-Wan tried to follow his advice, but he was unaccustomed to fighting this way, and he was nearing exhaustion, which made him clumsy. His opponent, on the other hand, had hardly broken a sweat and exuded cool confidence.

"Surely you can do better," he chided Obi-Wan more than once.

The comment was infuriating, because Obi-Wan felt he was fighting as well as he could, given the circumstances. But he knew he needed to end the fight quickly; he was too tired to last much longer. As the man aimed a series of thrusts at his legs, Obi-Wan saw his chance. To protect his legs from more stinging blows, he leaped into a high flip over the man's head, intent on landing the death blow by using a tight spinning slash through the man's midsection the moment he landed.

He never got the chance.

Mid-air, Obi-Wan felt a hot slash across his back, and the next thing he knew, he landed in a crumpled head on the floor with a scorching burn across his back.

As he lay there gasping for breath, the gray-bearded man walked over to look down at him coolly. "If it had been a real fight, boy, I would have sliced through your spine from kidney to shoulder blades."

Stunned, Obi-Wan could only lay there at a loss for words; he had no idea what he had done wrong. The older man reached down and helped him up.

"I concede, Master," Obi-Wan said, bowing low not only to show respect but also to hide his embarrassment at having been so thoroughly defeated by a man who was nearly elderly. He hesitated, then grudgingly admitted: "That was a killer move."

The man's lips curved upwards for the first time since his arrival, though on his lined face the expression looked more like a grimace than a smile. "I know every weakness of Ataru, boy, with all its ridiculous acrobatics," he said. "On the other hand, not many Jedi bother to advance in Makashi far enough to truly reap its benefits."

The older man deactivated his training saber, and Obi-Wan gratefully did the same.

"However, you do have a certain aptitude for strategy, young Kenobi, which is the very heart of Makashi," the master continued. "If you were taught properly, perhaps one day you could master it."

"Thank you, Master," Obi-Wan said. "And thank you for the lesson."

"It was my pleasure, young Kenobi. I trust you will remember it."

_Oh, don't worry,_ Obi-Wan thought sourly as he limped back to his quarters._ I will never forget it as long as I live_.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Obi-Wan. _Obi-Wan._ Are you ill?"

"What?" Obi-Wan half-sat up in bed, automatically reaching up to smooth down his spiky hair. He shook his head slightly, trying to shake the sleep from his mind. The dull lethargy he was feeling seemed to indicate it was the middle of the night, but a glance out the window told him it was in fact already light outside.

"Are you sick?" It was Qui-Gon's voice outside his bedroom door. "I've been trying to wake you up for a long time."

Obi-Wan pulled the blankets off his legs, put his feet on the floor and stood slowly, his muscles protesting strenuously at every movement. Stiffly, he walked over to the door and pressed the button to open it.

Qui-Gon's face went from worried to stern after he took one look at Obi-Wan.

"You promised me last night you weren't going to spar, Padawan," he said.

Obi-Wan looked down and realized that in his sleep shorts and sleeveless tunic, his half-healed burns from the night before were perfectly visible.

"I know, Master, and I'm very sorry," Obi-Wan said hastily. "I didn't mean to, but he was just so... so intimidating, and I didn't know how to refuse, and we just sort of started fighting."

"Who's _he_?"

"I don't know. Some Master. He didn't tell me his name."

Qui-Gon's brow furrowed. "He insisted on fighting you, but he didn't tell you his name?"

Obi-Wan shrugged helplessly, then winced at the painful movement. Qui-Gon's face softened a bit.

"Are you all right?"

"It's just sore muscles, and a few burns. Nothing serious."

"Good. Padawan, just because someone intimidates you doesn't mean you can get away with disobedience. You should have informed him you were not permitted to spar."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I am sorry, Master."

"It also doesn't excuse you from your duties today. Get dressed. We have work to do."

"Master, why haven't you taught me Makashi?"

If Qui-Gon was surprised by this conversation-starter, he didn't show it. He stepped to the side of the corridor for a moment to let another Knight pass between him and Obi-Wan, and then the two of them resumed walking toward the training rooms.

"I _have_ taught you Makashi," Qui-Gon answered.

"No, I mean... well, you've shown me all the positions and so forth, but you've never had me fight a single fight using nothing but Makashi techniques."

"It's a matter of practicality, Obi-Wan. I can't think of many combat situations in which using pure Makashi would serve you well."

Obi-Wan started to scratch an itching burn on his forearm, and only just managed to stop himself in time. "It would have come in handy last night," he said. "I was completely at a loss for how to counter his moves."

Qui-Gon's stride faltered for just a moment.

"The master you fought... he was using pure Makashi?" he asked.

"Yes. I didn't think anyone in the Temple did anymore."

Qui-Gon didn't answer for a long moment. "There are still a few," he said at last, and Obi-Wan was surprised to hear a note of tension in his normally even voice. "A very few."

"Well, can you show me some of it sometime? I never realized before how useful it could be. I bet I could even beat Shaak Ti once in a while with some of those moves."

"As I said, Padawan, there aren't many _real_ combat situations in which you could use it. Makashi is primarily a dueling form. It's designed to be used by one lightsaber-wielder against another. That's why so many Jedi specialized in it during the Sith wars. Yes, you could use it now to earn bragging rights with your friends, but it won't help you do your job. The Sith are extinct."

"But Master..." Obi-Wan hesitated.

"I know," Qui-Gon said quietly. "You're thinking of Xanatos."

"He wasn't the first Dark Jedi to attack a Jedi," Obi-Wan said, "and it would be naive to think he was the last."

They had arrived at a vacant training room. Qui-Gon closed the door behind them so they wouldn't be disturbed. He paced to the center of the room and slowly rubbed his hand over his face. He seemed lost in thought.

"You don't like Makashi, do you?" Obi-Wan asked.

Qui-Gon looked over at him.

"You don't. You don't want to teach me. What's wrong with Makashi?"

Qui-Gon shook his head slightly. "There's nothing inherently wrong with it. All the lightsaber combat forms are morally neutral. In the right hands, Makashi can be effectively used for good."

"But…?"

"We'll talk more about this later, Padawan," Qui-Gon said. "Right now, I want you to put it aside and concentrate on the task at hand."

Qui-Gon crossed over to the far side of the room and opened the storage compartment where the training remotes were stored. Obi-Wan suppressed a sigh as he chose a low-power training saber from the rack on the wall. That was another reason why he disliked Soresu training. It was heavily centered on blaster bolt deflection, which meant he spent an inordinate amount of time swinging at remotes instead of facing a real opponent, which was much more interesting.

"Now," Qui-Gon said, taking a blindfold out of the compartment as well. "Before we begin, a review. What are the basics of Soresu?"

"It's the most defensive of the seven lightsaber forms," Obi-Wan obediently recited. "It was designed to protect its users from blasterfire. It uses tight moves, subtle dodges and short sweeps designed to provide maximum defensive coverage."

Qui-Gon tied the blindfold snugly around Obi-Wan's head. "What are its strengths?"

"Because the technique minimizes exposure of the body, a master of Soresu can become nearly invincible, even if he is greatly outnumbered. It's known as the resilience form because it relies on the practitioner's ability to absorb blows and send them back to his attacker."

"Good. Now, show me how it's done." Obi-Wan heard the high-pitched whine of a remote being activated, followed by the hiss of its tiny jets releasing air to maneuver the remote through the air. He thumbed the activation switch of his lightsaber and raised it in the classic Soresu pose: his weight on his back leg, blade at shoulder height, pointing forward and parallel to the floor, with his left hand outstretched in a warning gesture.

"Deflect the bolts only, to begin with," Qui-Gon said. "When I give the word, you can begin disabling the remotes themselves."

Stretching out with the Force, Obi-Wan expanded his field of awareness until he felt the ripples in the Force cast by the remote. When the machine spat a burst of energy in his direction, he was ready. With a flick of his wrist, he easily deflected the first bolt. And the second. And the third.

"Use shorter sweeps," Qui-Gon said. "Don't move your blade so far from your center."

_I'm barely moving as it is_, Obi-Wan thought. It felt wrong to stand so still and move his blade so cautiously. It made him feel like he was fighting the way an arthritic old man would. He bounced up and down on his toes impatiently. He sensed the remote swooping to his left, and he turned to face it again just in time to bat away more energy bolts.

"Remember, you don't need to deflect every bolt," Qui-Gon said. "A slight dodge can be just as effective, and less tiring for you."

A second high-pitched whine sounded in Obi-Wan's ears, and then he was fighting two remotes. This was considerably more difficult, as it forced him to divide his focus. It was not unlike fighting an enemy with a weapon in each hand; he could not let himself forget at any moment that danger could come from either direction. As the minutes slipped past, he was grateful now for the economy of movement demanded by Soresu; if he had been using Ataru, by now he would have begun to feel his energy wane.

A third whine sounded, and now he was sensing danger from _three_ directions.

Obi-Wan sank deeper into the Force. It was too difficult to fix on the locations of three remotes at once by tracking their sounds; he would have to lean more heavily on the Force and trust it to guide his saber now. The remotes were programmed with just enough intelligence to know they should work together and shoot at him from different directions, and he frequently found himself in the position of having to dodge one bolt coming from behind at the same moment he deflected another headed for his chest.

Qui-Gon activated a fourth remote, and Obi-Wan felt himself tensing up. Up until now, he had felt relatively in control of the situation, but suddenly he had no margin of error. It was like fighting a single enemy with _four_ weapons in his hands, one who never got tired and never made a mistake. As Obi-Wan frantically tried to keep up with the onslaught, he lifted his lightsaber to deflect a shot, but instead of connecting with it solidly, some of the energy bolt grazed past his blade and missed Obi-Wan by centimeters; he felt the heat of it on his neck as it passed. He gasped in surprise, but there was no time to recover because another bolt was heading for his back and there was no way he could deflect it in time. Obi-Wan gave a tremendous leap to the side and got clear of the remotes just in time to recover his concentration for a moment, and then they were on him again. The barrage came so incessantly that Obi-Wan could barely move his lightsaber fast enough to protect himself.

_Why isn't Qui-Gon giving the signal to let me disable now?_ Obi-Wan thought irritably. He couldn't keep this up much longer.

"Stop trying to control the fight," Qui-Gon said. "You've reached your body's limits. Let the Force pick up the slack now."

_Even the Force can only do so much_, Obi-Wan thought, but he knew Qui-Gon would disagree vehemently with that statement. As would Yoda.

In the heat of a battle, there was no room for doubts. Obi-Wan knew he did not have the skill to win on his own. He was terrified to lower his guard long enough to open himself fully to the Force, but he forced himself to trust that it was, in fact, _possible_ to win this fight, despite all evidence to the contrary. Qui-Gon would not be testing him in this manner unless there was a way.

Obi-Wan lifted his chin in a sudden determination. His only other choice was surrender. And a Jedi Knight did not run from a fight, no matter how uneven the playing field.

He was still afraid, but he took the ritual cleansing breaths.

One…

Two…

Three…

He released control.

Abruptly, the noise and clash of the bolts flying toward him and bouncing off his lightsaber seemed to dampen, as though a blanket had been thrown over his head. Obi-Wan could still feel his arms moving and his feet shifting, could hear the hum of his lightsaber as it arced smoothly through the air, but it was as though he were somehow disconnected from it, a dispassionate observer to the fight as the Force took control.

The Force permitted the bolts to whiz past him even closer than they had done before, and yet the frantic feeling in his chest was subsiding. He felt as though he stood in the eye of a storm, with the winds howling all about him, while he remained in peace and safety in the center.

Qui-Gon added more and more remotes, and still Obi-Wan felt nothing but the calm presence of the Force rushing through him. Time seemed to lose all meaning in this state, and Obi-Wan was surprised when he heard Qui-Gon say: "You may now disable."

Without hesitation, he transitioned smoothly from pure defense to attack, or the nearest thing to attack Soresu permitted; with a slight alteration to the angle of his parries, he sent an energy bolt zipping back to its source, and with a loud sizzle a training remote dropped heavily to the floor.

Now the Force was nudging him to the left, showing him not where the remaining remotes were _now_, but where they would be in a few moments. Obi-Wan merely followed where the Force guided him, and obeyed its prompting to duck at a certain precise moment.

Two of the remotes shot each other, and fell to the floor.

The more remotes he defeated, the easier it became; it was a simple matter of reaching out to tap his blade _here_ and _there_, and after a few minutes of this, the final remote fell with a clunk.

Breathing heavily, Obi-Wan pulled the blindfold off his eyes and looked down at the eight remotes littering the floor of the training room.

He had never fought so many at once before.

"Well done," Qui-Gon said, clapping him on the shoulder and favoring him with a rare smile.

"Don't you mean 'perfect,' Master?" Obi-Wan asked slyly.

"Not perfect," Qui-Gon said. "You're a long way from that yet. But it's a start." He looked up at the chrono on the wall. "I might also point out that during the deflection portion of the exercise, you survived six minutes longer, using Soresu alone, than your best time using Ataru techniques."

Obi-Wan pondered that for a moment. "Master, would it have helped if I had used Soresu last night? Is it more effective against Makashi than Ataru?"

"It probably would have helped," Qui-Gon said. "You would still have been fighting against someone with much more skill and experience, but I suspect you would have survived longer, at least."

"What good would that have done?" Obi-Wan asked, disgruntled. "I don't want to survive fights, I want to _win_ them."

"Obi-Wan, I know you're experienced enough by now to know that winning the fight is not always the goal of a Jedi Knight. Can you think of a situation in which simply prolonging a fight can be valuable?"

Obi-Wan thought about it. "When I have an ally nearby who could come and help me?"

"Good. What else?"

"If I'm protecting someone else, I can buy them time to escape," he answered. "Or if I wanted to capture my enemy instead of killing him, it would give me time to identify his weaknesses so I could merely disarm or wound him."

"Yes. Sometimes you don't even need to do that much. If your enemy is intelligent enough to recognize that he cannot break through your defenses, you may even be able to negotiate his surrender."

"_Negotiate?"_ Obi-Wan repeated with a laugh. "Is Soresu a combat form, or a diplomatic strategy?"

"Yes," Qui-Gon said.

"But Master," Obi-Wan said, waving that aside. "If you really need to beat someone who's using Makashi, how do you do it?"

"Djem So can be quite effective," Qui-Gon said. Obi-Wan felt his heart sink in his chest. He had never been particularly good at Djem So. One of the more modern forms, it required a great deal of raw power, and that was not one of his strengths.

"Is that it?"

"Or you can use Makashi against Makashi."

"The master said last night that I could be good at that, if I was taught properly," Obi-Wan said hopefully.

Qui-Gon sighed. "Obi-Wan, I can teach you Makashi, if that's what you want. But first let me ask you a question. What types of combat do we face most when we're on missions?"

Obi-Wan thought a moment. "Being shot at by blasters, usually. Sometimes a lot of blasters at once."

"And when it's hand-to-hand combat?"

"Then it's vibroblades and vibroaxes and force pikes."

"Soresu is effective against the first," Qui-Gon said, "and Ataru is effective against the second. That's why most Jedi specialize in one or the other, or a mixture of both."

"But that isn't the real reason you don't like Makashi." It was a statement, not a question.

"It's one of the reasons, Obi-Wan, but you're right: it isn't the only one."

Qui-Gon sat on a stone bench against the wall, and gestured for Obi-Wan to join him.

"Consider this, Padawan: your focus determines your reality. If you spend a lifetime learning how to defeat those who wield lightsabers, what effect do you think that would have on how you view your brothers and sisters in the Order?"

Obi-Wan thought about it for a long moment. "I might think of them as competition," he said slowly. "Foes to be beaten. To gloat over."

"There's a reason why Makashi is called 'the contention form,'" Qui-Gon said. "It can become a path to arrogance."

Obi-Wan blew out a long sigh and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "This is a lot to think about, Master."

Qui-Gon rested his large hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "If you're thinking of changing your specialty, Obi-Wan, there's no rush. You have plenty of time to think it over. I didn't choose Ataru as my specialty until I was Knighted."

"Really?" Obi-Wan was surprised. "What did you study before that?"

Qui-Gon looked away. "Makashi."

**TO BE CONTINUED**

_Author's note: Many thanks to pronker, JediKaren and mtfrosty for their reviews. I welcome constructive criticisms or just a note to let me know what you think so far!_


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